Introducing Severus Snape
by White Gray
Summary: CHARACTER STUDY. A collection of Severus Snape's internal monologues and other surprises. Disclaimer: All characters from Harry Potter books belong to J. K. Rowling.
1. Guilt

_Severus Snape's internal monologue - after Lily's death._

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><p>GUILT<p>

Guilt.

It eats your heart out until hollow emptiness is the only thing that remains.

Guilt.

That was what he felt.

_"Yes. Guilt."_

Every day, again and anew and afresh. It was what painfully reminded him that he was still alive. And _she_ was not. Because of _him_. Because of his _stupidity._

"Stupid, _stupid_ you."

Oh, he could just... _rip the insides out of his body with his bare hands._ So foolish, so brainless.

_"No, not brainless. Heartless."_

Yes, that could explain a lot. He didn't have a heart to begin with.

So why did it hurt so much? Can a heart suddenly sprout in your chest out of nothingness? A flicker of light born in sticky darkness, that creeps to the very core of your being. It comes stealthily upon you and you do not even notice it until it is too late, marking you for the rest of your miserable existence.

Why why _why_ was he so thick? Why couldn't he see what was right under his nose? Why did cruel fate have to teach him the hard way what are the things in life that matter most?

Why her? Why...

Why didn't he see it then? Why was it that it didn't seem wrong doing it? Why did he think he had the right, the obligation... Was it the youth, the resentment against the world? He did not remember the reasons any more... Everything seemed so insignificant now, so irrelevant, unimportant, so petty...

He could not feel anything anymore. He was numb with pain. His heart was just a shell of flesh. Empty. It was there to fulfil one purpose only and that purpose was to ensure her sacrifice was not in vain.

For _her_. For _Lily_.

He chocked even at the _thought_ of her name. A bitter lump rose from his chest up to the centre of his head and flushed him until he was drowning in self-loathing.

He had never done anything good. He disgusted himself.

She was gone. Because of his – his what? Mistakes? No, that word is too mild to describe the horror of his actions, of his wrong _decisions_.

He will make sure she did not sacrifice herself for nothing. His sole purpose will be to fulfil this task.

That was the least he could do.

Shut up, don't you complain, don't you ever dare to utter a single word of protest, you do not whine! You suffer in your miserable existence. Suffer in silence.

He will suffer it, endure it, because that was what he deserved.

_"You hear? That is what you deserve! You are despicable, you deserve it! You deserve every bit of it...What you endure is nothing compared to..."_

Sometimes he wished he had never been born.

He would give _anything_ to have her back. Even give his soul to the devil. Wait, he had already done that. And for what?

_"Don't deny it, you wanted it, you desired it, you craved for it, you dreamt about it!"_

_"It doesn't matter anymore anyway. She's gone."_

You will _never_ show it to anyone. Never. Ever.

What if... what if someone _finds out_? No, no, it can _never_ happen. Lock it away, put it in a safe place, hide it well, conceal it in the darkest depths, out of sight and out of reach and do not think about it.

Bury it, bury it like her disintegrating body had been buried. Like her lush verdant eyes, buried, dried, rotten. Never to see the light of day again.

What could he have done? What could he have done differently? What he _should_ have done differently?

_"Everything."_

He did not know what he had when he had her. He thought... No, it seems he did not think at all. How could he ever in his right mind...

He learned his lesson the hard way. She had to suffer because of it. It was done. He had to live with it. Yet he kept wishing he were dead.

If he had a second chance, he would have chosen _her_.


	2. Anger

_This little piece was created as a response to a challenge by Agnus Castus. Hope you enjoy it! _

_Feel free to challenge me with more character study/analysis. Suggest a character + one word working title!_

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><p>ANGER<p>

Severus Snape was pacing his office restlessly, gnashing his teeth. His blood was boiling with rage in his throbbing veins like a cauldron left unattended over a scorching fire.

He had been screaming. Shouting and yelling and shrieking like a madman. In the presence of the Headmaster and the Minister himself no less! It had been a long time since he lost control like that.

He could have done it, he could have killed the bloody traitor with his bare hands; _rip his filthy tongue out of his filthy mouth!_ He had been so close... It was infuriating to think...

WHY hadn't he seized the chance? The thought was maddening! He could have done it, he could, oh yes he could! He could kill him without regret, destroy him, render him to dust, make him scream, make him feel sorry for what he did, make him beg! He could have done all those things. It would be a delight to his eyes and music to his ears.

He was sure he would have done it if he had found him on his own, all alone, with no witnesses. He would not hesitate. He had seen it done before. He knew how it was done. It would not feel any different had the spell come from his wand. There would have been no remorse afterward, no guilt, only sick satisfaction after achieving a long-desired revenge. He would be only ridding the world of a cold-blooded murderer. Black showed that tendency at an early age and he knew all too well about it. Black was trying to kill Potter and it was his duty to protect the little imbecile at all costs. Everything justified the deed, so why didn't he do it when he had the chance? He wanted to see Black suffer under the Dementor's Kiss, that's why. It was worse than death, and it meant he would only need to observe and not raise a finger. That was why he chose that option. He could avoid having blood on his hands again. He was good at that. He cursed himself and his weakness. He should have just killed him on the spot. He clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt. His fingernails dig deep into his palm. His whole body was tense, every muscle strained. His hands were itching with the rush of blood; he had to do something with them.

He let out an animal-like roar, sending books, parchment rolls and quills off his desk with a passion. It did not help. His heart was still pounding in his ears, and he was breathing heavily as if he just ran up the seven staircases to the tallest tower. His nostrils were flaring. If anyone saw him in this state, they would run for their lives.

He had to do something, something... But what?

Why was it so hot in here? Dungeons were always cold, bitter and damp, so why were his forehead and upper lip all clammy? His collar and necktie seemed to tighten themselves around his throat on their own.

He grabbed his wand. It instantly let out a shower of angry silver sparks. He stared wide-eyed at them, seeing them even brighter than they really were with his black adrenalin-dilated pupils.

NO! He will not let his feelings dominate him. He will not lose control like he did before. He was not weak. Spontaneous, uncontrolled fits of anger were not his trait, were they? He had a great self-monitoring capacity, did he not? Oh yes, he did. Even the pickled animals in large glistening jars along the shelves of his office could nod in confirmation, had their eyes not been put out. Oh yes, he was a deterrent example of self-control.

What could he possibly do? Black was on the run again. His narrow escape seemed unfeasible moments ago, yet the devious bastard managed to evade his end once more. Oh, he had help – that was sure and certain. All he could do was waiting until the rotten pervert would make another mistake. And he will wait for as long as it takes. And he will enjoy every moment of his recapture and every moment of the Dementor's feast. Or he will kill him the moment he lays his eyes on him.

For one glorious moment he had thought he had him. He dreamt so long of it. Oh how he wished he would be the one to catch him! Both of them traitors. Black and Lupin. _Then that little brat..._ He and his little sidekick friends dared to attack him while he was trying to aid them! They should be thanking him, kissing the ground beneath his feet! They were Confunded no doubt, but that was no excuse for what they did. His head was still throbbing with pain where it hit the wall, irritating him even further. He will make them pay for that.

Why didn't Dumbledore listen to him? The muscle in his jaw started pulsating with ferocity. _The old fool, always seeing the best in people..._

_"You should know that better than anyone,"_ he reminded himself. _Oh yes, he knew perfectly well how easily Dumbledore trusted people..._

The little brat! He knew he had something to do with Black's disappearance, he just knew it! He had the map, he had the cloak, he knew of secret passages not even Filch knew about... It was him, he was sure.

He could just strangle him, squeeze so hard that his eyes popped out! _No... no no no... not those eyes... don't think of it... _

He heaved a heavy sigh and collapsed on the chair in front of his desk feeling all spent and sunken and helpless. How could the spoiled brat be so _stupid_ to believe... The sneaky bastard betrayed his parents! Lily died because her brainless husband's little friend was a two-faced traitor! It was because of him, all because of Potter and his thick brains, not able to see behind the mask his little friend Black was wearing. The little brat obviously inherited that trait.

_"You played a part in it as well, don't forget it,"_ a small sly voice inside his head reminded him.

_"Yes, but I did not know who the prophecy was about. I had no idea of the monstrosity I was committing. I did everything I could to rectify my deed. Black however knew perfectly well who he was betraying,"_ the other voice retorted smartly.

It just wasn't possible. The little story Black fed to the dim-witted kids was beyond idiotic. Pettigrew alive? No, that was just a filthy lie. There was proof, there were witnesses. Pettigrew did not have the brains nor the skills required to pull it off. The though itself was ludicrous. Madness. Pure madness!

He guessed it was fairly easy for Potter to believe Black. Firstly he was stupid and naive enough to fall for the old trick of 'I was your old man's best friend'. Secondly he did not appreciate his mother's sacrifice; otherwise he wouldn't have been so reckless to risk his life whenever the possibility presented itself. He did not even remember his parents. He did not remember seeing her mother's eyes, her lovely smile, her dark red hair fanning behind her, carried on the lightest of breeze, even though, as her son, he was on the receiving end of all her caresses. Oh, the irony...

He, though he never had her, could _never _forget.


	3. Remorse

REMORSE

"Severus…"

The terrible pleading sound touched his ears lightly as a predator's breath on its victim's neck. The moment has come. He pushed the foolish Malfoy boy out of the way. He'll show him how it's done properly...

Then he realized he was the predator. He gazed at Dumbledore, suddenly wishing he wasn't the owner of the body he currently inhabited. He hoped beyond hope that somebody would stop him.

Why did he have to do it? How did he ever find himself in this position? In this very moment he wished he would have never saved Dumbledore from the cursed ring. Why did the old fool have to summon him? Why didn't he just roll over and succumb to the curse? It would have been so much simpler.

He was also to blame, he knew that perfectly well. He regretted he ever agreed to be bound by the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa. He cursed himself and his weakness over and over again, but what was done was done. Unbreakable Vows could not be broken.

He was the one who saved Dumbledore's life and now he will be the one to take it.

"Severus… please…"

How he hated the word! And how he loathed the old man for throwing it pleadingly at him! And how he disgusted himself for complying with it!

He had to do it. The fiery threads of the Unbreakable Vow burned him as fresh as new. They slithered up his arm, into his chest, into his ears, whispering...

He was afraid his hands might start shaking, afraid that his secret might be discovered at any moment, afraid that he will die for not complying with the Vow had he delayed it a bit longer.

_Do it. Do it, or you will be the one to die._

_It's either him or me._

_He told you himself to do it. He begged you._

He watched his hand in dread as it lifted the wand and directed it at the old man.

_He will die anyway._

_You promised. _

_You promised you would do anything._

_..._

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_..._

To his horror his wand obeyed the demand. He watched in disbelief as Dumbledore collapsed under his curse.

_There. _

_It's done._

He could feel the stares of disbelief on his back. They didn't believe him capable, did they?

_Who's the coward now?_

Yet he did not feel courageous. He did not feel anything remotely similar. He cowardly feared for his own life as he yelled those two words.

_You're a bloody coward!_

Realization drowned on him as he lowered his wand.

_What have I done?_

He could swear he heard the sound of his soul ripping apart. His insides were screaming, they were screaming so loudly he was afraid somebody might hear him. He would have collapsed, would have roared in remorse, but there was no space and no time for that. He would have to bury it in the murky depths of his mind.

It was him. It was his hand, his voice, his curse. Now he was not only a coward but also a bloody murderer!

Why did his wand always have to do what it was told? Why did his hands always have to move the way he ordered them to move? Why did his voice never falter? He wanted to tear his miserable self apart!

He hated being himself. It was revolting to have his skin covering him.

Strange muffled silence engulfed his ears. He was aware if his surroundings, aware that his legs were moving, aware that he grabbed the foolish Malfoy boy and pushed him forward. He was strangely aware of everything his body did, yet he could not feel his limbs anymore. It was as if it was not his body at all. He was numb, cold as a stone. He was nothing but a hollow armour sent into the battle to do its master's biding. Imagining himself empty was the only way to prevent his chest exploding with guilt and shame.

Dumbledore's body fell over into the depth, and he would never see him again. He was grateful for that. He couldn't bear to see him lying there, cold and lifeless, a strong reminder of his terrible sin. Yet, still, whenever he closed his eyelids he could see those tired blue eyes, and he could hear those words, pleading for deliverance.

He knew from the very beginning that the green flash of light would never leave him. He just didn't know how much the remorse would hurt.


	4. Grief

_Disclaimer: Text in italics belongs to JKR. It is used only as a reference. _

GRIEF

It was late All Hallows' Eve and Severus was sitting in his dungeon office, grading a stack of essays. A fire was dying in the fireplace, its soft orange light illuminating a short glistening line of jars on a shelf behind his desk. He was just about to retire for the night when green flames roared in the hearth and Dumbledore's head bobbed into view, requesting an urgent meeting in the headmaster's office. It sounded serious, Order related, so Severus quickly grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and a moment later he was spewed into the circular office. Dumbledore was already seated behind his enormous desk. He appeared fatigued, and when he looked at Severus with his lustreless blue eyes, a grim expression on his face, the newly appointed Potions Master knew instantly that something was terribly amiss.

"Please, sit down, Severus."

Wordlessly Severus sat down in a chair in front of the broad desk.

"I have called you here because I wanted to tell you myself, before you hear it from another source. I have good news and bad news," Dumbledore said quietly. He started at Severus as if expecting him to inquire about it, but the latter simply waited wordlessly in his chair, his eyes cold.

"The good news is that Voldemort seemed to have disappeared."

Whatever Severus had been expecting, that was not it. He widened his eyes and leaned forward in his chair in disbelief. "Disappeared? What exactly do you mean by that?"

"He tried to use a Killing Curse tonight, but it failed him and it rebounded upon him."

Severus could not believe what he was hearing. He didn't dare feeling relived just yet; he still hadn't heard the bad news. Subconsciously he grabbed his forearm where the Dark Mark was etched against his skin, marking him as one of the Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

He unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled down the coarse fabric. The mark was not completely gone, but it was faded to a mere smoky shadow of its former strong contrast against the pale skin. How could this be? Was the Dark Lord really gone? For good?

"So the Dark Lord is gone? Dead?" Severus asked in disbelief.

"No body was found, but it seems he had been defeated."

"How? By whom?"

"Alas, that is the bad part of the news."

"What do you mean? If he's gone we have nothing to worry about anymore. She's safe now, isn't she?"

Dumbledore said nothing; he simply leaned forward and looked at Severus, his face wearing the same grim expression. A deathly chill wrapped its steely fingers around Severus' neck.

"Isn't she?" he repeated, his voice rasp. His hands shook and became moist with dread.

"Earlier this evening, the wards I had placed over Potter's house at Godrics' Hollow have been breached. I have sent Hagrid to investigate. Regrettably, the news was disturbing."

Severus stared at the Headmaster without blinking.

"Tell me it's not... not her…" he croaked. "Tell me she's alright!"

"I am sorry, Severus."

Severus shook his head in disbelief. He could not accept it. It simply could not be true.

"No... You had – they were – The Fidelus Charm was made only a week ago!" he stammered.

"I am very sorry, Severus. It seems that the Potters were betrayed by their Secret Keeper. The Fidelus Charm had been broken and earlier this evening Lily and James were killed by Voldemort while they were trying to protect their son."

The words slowly reached his ears and the horrific realization finally hit him square in the chest like a mad Bludger. He could not breathe. His heart was racing in a mad beat. A nauseating feeling came creeping upon him and he barely perceived Dumbledore's quiet words.

"Lily died trying to protect her son. She sacrificed herself. That is why the Killing Curse rebounded upon Voldemort when he tried to kill her boy."

The world started spinning around him. He could not feel his own body anymore. It felt impossibly unbearable. He howled in shock and disbelief. He slumped forward in his chair, pulling at his hair madly. It could not be true, it just couldn't. She wasn't, she couldn't be...

Gone. Dead. Nothing but a corpse. No future, no hope, no dreams, no faith, no chance, no nothing. He cried in despair and pressed his palms tightly over his ears, rocking back and forth uncontrollably, trying to deny the intrusive thoughts and images.

Why her? Why? What did she ever do to deserve this? He yelled at the heavens, cursing the injustice. It couldn't be true. She couldn't just… He growled in denial and shook his head. He could not bear it. He felt numb with the pain of grief. It didn't seem real; it felt like to much to bear, too horrible to be true.

Dumbledore rounded his desk and placed a hand on his shoulder, but Severus furiously shook it off. He couldn't stand being touched by the man that had failed to protect Lily. He roared angrily like a wounded animal and slumped forward in his chair again. Finally he raised his face, anger rising from his stomach, and looked at the man standing over him through the haze of his misery.

"_I thought... you were going... to keep her... safe..."_

"_She and James put their faith in the wrong person," said Dumbledore. "Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"_

Yes, he did, he hoped beyond hope, foolishly, naively. He did everything he could, begged his Master on his knees to have her life spared, to have her for himself and fulfil one of his wildest fantasies. But he was no fool. He knew how cruel the Dark Lord was. He knew it then, when his Master had told him disdainfully that there were other women, of purer blood, worthier of him. But he didn't want any other women; all he ever wanted was her, though he knew she was beyond his reach, out of his league. As grim as his chances where, there was still that tiny flicker of the wildest possibility, a mere illusion…

In despair he betrayed his Master and went to Dumbledore, begging for his help. At that point he would have sold his soul to the devil, but he realized he had already done that. He had nothing to lose. Perhaps that was why he was so desperately trying to get something, anything, even if it was only… Only what? Knowing that she was still alive and happy with someone else? Yes, anything was better than this. He realized that just now.

He did all he could to protect her, yet he still failed. He cursed himself for failing to prevent it. It was his fault; it was all his fault…

He was taking shallow breaths while frightening and overwhelming feelings were bubbling inside his chest. She was gone and so was everything worth living for.

"_Her boy survives," said Dumbledore._

Severus' neck twitched at those words. The boy was alive, a part of her was alive; a part that would always remind him that he had lost her over Potter. But what did it matter? He felt numb and disconnected from the world. Life was empty and meaningless without her.

"_Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?"_

"_DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone… dead…"_

"_Is this remorse, Severus?"_

"_I wish… I wish __I __were dead…"_

"_And what use would that be to anyone?" said Dumbledore coldly. "If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."_

Did he really, truly love her? Yes, since the very beginning, always, his mind screamed in confirmation. Yes, he had loved her like crazy and had been going mad with anger and jealousy over Potter. Yes, he had loved her; he had longed and fantasized and yearned for her intensely. She was everything to him. Yes, he loved her still, with every drop of blood he possessed. He could find no solace in this world now that she was gone. There was nothing left anymore. There was no way forward, no solace, no purpose, and no revenge. How could there be a way forward without her? He couldn't understand what Dumbledore wanted from him.

"_What — what do you mean?"_

"_You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."_

"_He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone —"_

"_The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."_

The Dark Lord will return… The words echoed in his anguished mind, slowly peeling away the rotten morbid leaves of despair. Slowly realization came.

He wanted to ensure that Lily did not die in vain. He still blamed himself for putting her in danger. He still blamed Dumbledore for not protecting her, and he still despised Black for betraying her, but above all he loathed the Dark Lord for murdering her. Yes, he wanted revenge and he wanted her death to not be in vain. He would protect her son at all costs. He was determined. The way forward was clear now.

Slowly Severus regained control of himself and mastered his own breathing.

_At last he said, "Very well. Very well. But never — never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between_

_us! Swear it! I cannot bear... especially Potter's son… I want your word!"_

"_My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?"_

_Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's ferocious, anguished face. "If you insist..."_

And so, while the rest of the Wizarding world was celebrating the demise of the Dark Lord, Severus Snape was grieving quietly in his dark dungeons. No tears came to his eyes anymore. He wasn't one to wallow in sadness anyhow. The length of life he had lived so far had already strengthened him, but tonight he had learned another hard lesson and one last illusion was shredded to pieces. Life was unfair. It's just how it was.

He was long used to grief that life seemed to have in store in abundance. He took pride in being strong and self-sufficient. He hadn't had much left to lose anyway. He had already lost her friendship when he had called her a Mudblood. He had already lost her to Potter with whom she had a child. All that he had left to lose was a cherished – no, a foolish dream. He was grieving for something he had lost long ago. He simply felt numb by this one final loss. Yet it still felt like the sadness would never let up.

He wasn't afraid of anything anymore; but he had no hope left either. All he had left was a purpose. And when that would be finished, so would be he.


End file.
